Juxtaposition
by Lock Owl
Summary: Celebrian and Morwinyon have been friends for practically their entire lives, but Celebrian falls in love and leaves home, Morwinyon is on her own for the first time. Chapter six: In Which We Meet Legolas.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to, own Lord of the Rings or anything affiliated therewith.  
  
*****  
  
A warm wind blows through the trees of Lothlorien, rustling the leaves, causing a sort of music, increased by the presence of many, many grasshoppers. An Elf-girl, somewhere between child and woman, stands, looking into the wind and the darkness. She is not short, but not as tall as many Elves. Her hair is a light brown, nearly blonde. Her garb is plain, a relatively simple green dress that neither emphasizes nor hides her feminine development. A glass of wine is clutched in her hand, slender fingers trying hard to remember their purpose.  
  
"Morwinyon?" a voice asks. It is Celebrían, an Elven beauty with her long blonde hair and the mature features of an adult. In mortal years she is perhaps nineteen, her younger sister Morwinyon perhaps thirteen, but the girls are closer than most siblings are. "Are you all right?"  
  
Celebrían's voice carries concern, but Morwinyon knows what she will see before she turns to her sister: a face slightly flushed with the excitement of dancing. Morwinyon has not had a single dance tonight, but she has watched her parents and her sister spin, and this is enough for her.  
  
The Elf Celebrían danced with for most of the night is new to Morwinyon's knowledge. He has grey eyes and raven-colored hair, but something very serious hangs about him. He is perhaps twenty in mortal years. Morwinyon trusts him, but she will always be wary, out to protect her sister.  
  
"I am well," Morwinyon says, setting her glass on the ground as she turns to Celebrían. "I enjoy watching you dance, I need not partake myself. Your partner, he is handsome. Does he step on your feet?" She smiles, her still- juvenile features lighting up full of mirth. Celebrían keeps her sister's steady gaze for a few moments, then she breaks down and laughs.  
  
"He does not and you know it!" she chides, easily lifting the younger Elf and twirling her in the air. When Celebrían sets Morwinyon down again, both are giggling. Celebrían kisses her little sister's head.  
  
Morwinyon glances past Celebrían and catches sight of the Elf with the raven-hair. "You should go," Morwinyon whispers to her sister. "I think he is becoming jealous."  
  
"Little imp!" Celebrían teases. Her face grows solemn as she adds; "You do not feel I am abandoning you, Morwinyon, do you?"  
  
"I want you to be happy, Celebrían, whether you are riding with me or. . .twirling with your envious Elf," Morwinyon replies. She does want her sister to be happy, she wants it more than most anything else. She wants it more than she wants a happy life for herself, though why this is she cannot say.  
  
"Thank you, Morwinyon!" Celebrían exclaims, and Morwinyon knows that this Elf is something special to her sister. Celebrían's white dress seems to bob as she runs back the Elf who has been watching the sisters. "My sister," she says to him in explanation. "She likes you, I think."  
  
"This is rare?" he asks, thinking of his own sibling.  
  
"Aye," Celebrían laughs, "very rare indeed!"  
  
"Then I am already ahead of the others," he jokes.  
  
"Others?" Celebrían asks, confused. "What others?"  
  
"Why, the million other suitors," he replies, as if it were obvious.  
  
"Everyone is teasing me tonight!" Celebrían pretends to bemoan.  
  
"I am sorry. Let me make it up to you with a dance. Please?"  
  
His smile alone could make her agree.  
  
'She loves him,' Morwinyon realizes, and is struck with a strong desire to protect her sister. 'If he hurts her, he shall pay dearly,' resolves Morwinyon, fists clenching at her sides.  
  
Morwinyon turns away, suddenly saddened, though she cannot say why. Her heart seems to have lowered for no reason. Pondering, she reaches down and lifts her glass, but when she straightens she is no longer alone. She jumps slightly, still amazed at how silently her mother can appear before her. "Mother! I thought you were. . .that is I. . ." Morwinyon is not sure why she feels guilty, but she glances behind her to see her father standing alone, watching Celebrían dance.  
  
'She must be so happy,' thinks Morwinyon, 'for so many people love her.'  
  
"Come walk with me, Morwinyon," Galadriel requests of her daughter. She is worried that because Celebrían seems to get so much attention, Morwinyon feels abandoned or forgotten. Having one daughter would have been simpler, not having to be as equal when they were young and even as they grow, but Galadriel never regrets Morwinyon; she loves both her daughters and always will.  
  
Morwinyon obeys her mother, but at the same time does not: although Morwinyon walks beside the elder Elf, she neither takes her mother's hand nor makes any form of physical contact, her hands clenched behind her back. For a while the two walk on in silence, comfortable with the warm winds and the crickets playing. It is the child who first breaks the silence, knowing what will come and dreading it.  
  
"I cannot imagine that you asked me to walk with you, simply because you did not wish to walk alone," Morwinyon begins.  
  
"This is so. Are you happy, Morwin?"  
  
Morwinyon does not like opening herself to her mother, somehow although she trusts Galadriel more than almost anyone else, her secrets and true self feel safer hidden away. Nonetheless Morwinyon replies, "This I am, Mother. What more would I wish? I have a home, parents who love me, and a sister that is also my best friend. Happiness has come easily in my life." A sudden thought strikes her, and she looks at Galadriel, shocked and afraid, "Why do you say this? Is something going to happen? Are you sending me away?"  
  
Galadriel smiles softly. She wants to reach out and touch Morwinyon's shoulder for reassurance, but the girl is growing up, and caressing her could be taken as being condescending. "Of course not, child, you said yourself that your father and I love you. Often your sister seems to take much attention, and I worried that perhaps this bothered you."  
  
"It is kind of you to think so, but I love Celebrían. She is my sister. Is that not what sisters do?"  
  
"Yet something troubles your heart, my daughter," Galadriel returned, knowing well the manners of young girls and their common evasions. She wonders what it is that plagues her youngest; is it envy, or perhaps loneliness? After all, Celebrían is slipping away. Morwinyon is sharp, she must know this.  
  
"It is of little importance," Morwinyon says; there is no use in denying it, for Galadriel already knows that it is there. However, Morwinyon means not to tell her about the dreams. She has, in her mind, prepared many stories, should this moment arise. A secret lover might be hinted at in slight conversational slips. Perhaps Morwinyon will say that she has been sneaking outside of Lothlorien, where she is forbidden. Somehow these things would be easier than the truth, which Morwinyon herself does not understand.  
  
"Aye?" Galadriel raises one eyebrow.  
  
"Aye," Morwinyon mutters, but she looks away. She is lying and she knows it, but she cannot help it. A part of her refuses to tell the truth, refuses to bend to the will of the usual Morwinyon, the good one. She, the good side, can feel Galadriel's unwavering scrutiny, and her guilt breaks her at once. "Oh, Mother, I am sorry!" Morwinyon laments. "I mean no harm, you know this. You do know, do you not?"  
  
Suddenly Morwinyon's opinion of herself is called into question. Does she seem selfish, she wonders, does she seem proud? She has never thought herself too faulted, although like everyone faulted in part. Now she thinks that it would be better if she thought before she ever acted, so as not to hurt anyone, as she is sure she has done many times before.  
  
"Yes indeed, Morwinyon. Challenge not the goodness of your heart! Come, we will be missed and are too long gone. But know that you may always seek me, Morwinyon, with any words you wish to speak."  
  
Mother and daughter walked slowly, side by side, each lost in her own thoughts. Galadriel worried for Morwinyon, whose heart was heavy. Morwinyon hoped that she had not worried her mother, but this was a matter she must tend to on her own.  
  
Their woes were momentarily forgotten when they saw Celebrían again. She was dancing with her father, Celeborn, now, still smiling that carefree smile young girls have, that smile that just shouts of innocence. Galadriel and Morwinyon are just two women now, bonded by their mutual love of another.  
  
*****  
  
Later that night, Morwinyon sits cross-legged on her bed, her light violet nightgown covering her knees, as Celebrían changes out of her dress into her own nightgown. The former watches the latter with fascination as she has many times before, amazed at the way her sister so effortlessly lets her hair fall over her shoulders, so perfected, the way she walks so gracefully to her bed.  
  
A yellow flame flickers in the window, reflecting on the glass panes. The girls are also in their window, smaller versions of themselves. Celebrían and Morwinyon did not always share a room, but Morwinyon had night terrors as a child, and it did little good for her to wake up everyone else bashing into things as she tried to find her sister. Finally Celebrían asked if she and Morwinyon might share a room, and they simply never changed things back.  
  
"You looked very beautiful when you danced," Morwinyon says honestly.  
  
"Thank you," Celebrían says. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"  
  
"Aye," Morwinyon smiles, "but I suspect you would rather not listen but speak!" The last word is nearly shouted with heavy implication. "Tell me his name, Celebrían!" Morwinyon requests, Celebrían gives her sister an aloof smile. In a flash Morwinyon is off her bed, tackling Celebrían and tickling her. Celebrían giggles for mercy. "A name, a name, your freedom for a name!" Morwinyon barters.  
  
"Never in a million years!" Celebrían returns, and it is mutually known that they are no longer two sisters. Morwinyon is a pirate; she wears high boots with leggings and a tunic, and has a patch over one eye. She has captured Celebrían, a brave but helpless damsel. "I would sooner die!" Celebrían manages through laughter.  
  
"You cannot refuse to tell me!" declares Morwinyon. "I am the Almighty Pirate, ruler of all pirates!" Celebrían grabs a pillow and smacks her sister with it. "Ack! A wooden board!" shouts Morwinyon. "You fight dirty!" She grabs her own pillows and is about to hit Celebrían in return when a voice from behind them announces,  
  
"All right, pirate and lady, you have had enough excitement for the night. It is time for bed."  
  
"But Ada--" Morwinyon whines, for good measure, as she slips beneath the covers. Celeborn gives her a tolerant smile and pulls the coverlet up to her chin. Morwinyon wriggles, again for good measure, but allows her father to kiss her goodnight. Celeborn repeats this process with Celebrían, then extinguishes the flame of their candle and leaves his daughters to their rest.  
  
Celebrían left her scarf hanging from a rafter. Morwinyon notices it, and it looks to her like a hanging body. She squirms, closes her eyes tight, and prays that when she opens them again the illusion will have been dispelled. It has not. Morwinyon whimpers, clutching the coverlet tightly.  
  
"Shh, Morwinyon, hush. It is all right," Celebrían soothes. Morwinyon's hand slides out from beneath the covers, and finds Celebrían's between their beds. In her sister's warm palm, Morwinyon knows she is safe.  
  
"Cel?" Morwinyon asks.  
  
"Yes?" Celebrían replies, though she is tired.  
  
"Once upon a time there was a pirate. . ." 


	2. Mystery

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/places thereof.  
  
Loveofthering: Thanks! Morwinyon and Celebrían have a deep bond that will, with the coming courtship of Celebrían, undergo quite a few trials. Nice hearing from you!  
  
*****  
  
"My sister loves you," Morwinyon states. She stands before the Elf with whom Celebrían danced, looking at him with the most serious face she has ever worn. He does not realize that she is judging him, and that she has been judging him slowly for the many months he has spent thinking only of Celebrían. Now her last step before a final judgment, a confrontation, has been initiated.  
  
"I think so," replies Elrond, for it is indeed he that has stolen Celebrían's heart. His matter-of-fact tone does not sit well with the Elfling girl, who narrows her eyes.  
  
"I am not asking you. I am telling you," she states coldly. "And now I am telling you this: you may not see it, but my sister is devoted to you. If you hurt her in any way I shall see to it that you suffer much, and for many years." With this she turns away from him, and is gone before he can reply. Elrond stares after her, shocked. Who is this little girl? Who does she think she is? It takes him a moment to recover himself. Celebrían is happy with me, he thinks, and the child ought to be content with that.  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
It is a sweet voice, and Elrond looks up to see Celebrían standing before him. "No," he replies. He does not, nor will he for many years, tell her of his short conversation with Morwinyon. It does not seem important. And anyway, when he looks into her eyes the rest of the world seems to melt away.  
  
As Morwinyon walks outside, she wraps her cloak tightly around herself. A chill wind blows, and the clouds hang heavy with the promise of snow. Against her will tears come to her eye with the knowledge that this will indeed be the first snowfall of winter, beginning perhaps tomorrow or the day after. Every year prior on the night of the first snowfall Celebrían and Morwinyon have gone riding, alone, at midnight. Morwinyon doubts they will ride tonight. All at once hate surges within her, so strongly that she falls to the ground.  
  
He has no right, she thinks, no right at all to take her away like that! Morwinyon knows that she is being selfish, but she does not care. She wants Celebrían all for herself. Her parents raised her to believe in morals, especially the simple childhood virtues of equality and sharing. Being the second child she always had someone to share with--and now she does not want to share!  
  
As Morwinyon realizes that she has no choice her tears come stronger, and she shakes. Her shoulders hit the trunk of the tree she leans against for support, at first accidentally, then on purpose, harder and harder, scratching holes in her cloak. What does she care? She smashes virtue. She smashes love. She smashes herself. Her slams are cut short by a voice calling her name. Pausing, she blinks--and something lands lightly on her nose. Something soft, cold, wet--snow.  
  
Morwinyon gets to her feet at once, brushing herself off in anger. "Morwinyon? Are you out here?" She mumbles a reply, knowing that her father will not hear her. She kneels down, checking to see that her boots are tied. Like a child's they have come undone, and she hurriedly ties them again. Once this is done she straightens and runs into the woods. She needs to be on her own right now, to. . .think things through. She wants Celebrían happy, of course, but at what price? Is she really so selfish?  
  
She walks farther than she realizes, puzzling over these things. There is no conclusion that she reaches. When she stops she looks around and realizes that this place is unfamiliar. While walking she picked at a loose bit of her mitten, and it has unraveled--in fact, both of her mittens have. Her cloak must have slipped off without her noticing. "At least I have my boots," she mutters. Elves may not be affected by cold, but that does not mean they cannot freeze to death. "Oh, that is silly," Morwinyon says of this thought. "It is not that cold." Yet she has always felt the cold, and wishes very much that she were home, in her bed.  
  
But she does not know quite where home is. Having walked without observation she is decently lost. More so, she is lost without warm clothes. "Oh, this is wonderful," she remarks in a snide tone. "I shall just go back the way I came, then, and hope it is the right direction." Her feet move slowly, for she is weary, and snow falls around her. It is terribly cold, and in her thin, short-sleeved garb she shivers despite her Elven blood, hugging herself and shivering to keep warm. Morwinyon will not allow herself tears of self-pity.  
  
She does not think as she plods along, ignoring the world about her, all thought bent on the cold. Her mind wanders, and she thinks of home, of warm fires. She remembers mornings of years past when she and Celebrían would stay in bed until their mother coaxed and threatened enough to get them up. Sometimes they would speak. Celebrían would say, "We should get out of bed, Mother will be angry."  
  
"You first," Morwinyon would reply with a chuckle.  
  
"Ah, but it was my idea," Celebrían would reply. Morwinyon, to prove herself bold, would jump from beneath the sheets, her feet hitting the cold floor, and she would howl. Then Morwinyon would dance around, trying to keep her feet off the ground. Sometimes she fell over comically, laughing through tears as she tried to rub the pain out of her bruise bottom.  
  
On those mornings, when they were younger, Celebrían or Morwinyon would fetch their thimble, and the first to the windowpane with thimble received the privilege of decorating the pane, cutting images into the frost that had formed. Celebrían often drew flowers or repetitive designs, but Morwinyon illustrated pirates and adventures. She had a great imagination for such things.  
  
Morwinyon smiles to herself as she walks on, thinking of the many happy times she has had with her sister. She raises her hand to her mouth and, feeling the warm breath, realizes that at least part of her is not cold. She sucks on her fingers, worrying at first that they might stick to her tongue as icicles are known to do, then realizing that her fingers are warming, not her mouth getting colder.  
  
But fingers or no Morwinyon is finding it difficult to breathe in the frigid air. Snowflakes stick to her eyelashes and obscure her vision. Those tears are threatening again. A part of Morwinyon is glad, having something to focus on: keeping the tears at bay. Her toes are beginning to go numb.  
  
"Morwinyon?"  
  
She tries to reply, tries to identify the voice, but she cannot. Her answer, when it comes, sounds somewhere between comprehensible and animalistic. The tears are closer than ever to spilling over when she feels something warm being wrapped around her, and someone rubs her arms to restore circulation. "Are you all right? What were you doing? By the Valar, girl, do you want to be killed? You should know better."  
  
This torrent of various phrases and questions continues, although Morwinyon cannot make out the words, as someone places a hand on her back and guides her along, to where she knows not. Morwinyon is hardly aware of what is going on as whomever found her outside pulls a heavy sweater over her head, removes her boots, and lays her gently in her bed. The last thing she knows is the coverlet being pulled over her.  
  
"Go to sleep now, Morwinyon. You should be all right by the time you awake." Then from some groggy place between sleeping and being awake, Morwinyon hears a short song being sung to hear. The song makes her eyelids feel heavy, and they close with the deep sleep of injury or exhaustion. "Pleasant dreams, Little Light." Morwinyon hears the door close, and then falls into a deep, heavy sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Morwinyon awakes highly disoriented. She is warm, very warm: very little heat escaped her body as she slept. She gropes in the darkness for anything familiar, and feels her pillow and quilt. The room is filled with a dense blackness. Squinting, Morwinyon can make out the form of her sister's bed across from her own. It is empty. She rises and goes to the window, gazing out at the immaculate blanket of snow that encompasses the entire forest of Lothlorien.  
  
As she smiles, two figures come out suddenly onto the gleaming snow. They are laughing gaily, hold onto each other as the walk out into the wonderland. They draw close, and one whispers something to the other. They begin to kiss, and Morwinyon realizes she is seeing something forbidden. She also realizes that the two people are her sister and Elrond. She draws away from the window, knowing that it is wrong to watch such things.  
  
Ten minutes later, as Morwinyon sits on her bed working on embroidery, Celebrían knocks then enters the room. By the light of Morwinyon's candle, lit for the embroidery, Celebrían sees her sister's sorrow. "Hey, little one," she says, sitting beside Morwinyon uncertainly. As she does so the younger Elf begins to cry. "What is it? Is something wrong?"  
  
"Is it midnight?" Morwinyon asks.  
  
"It will be soon."  
  
"We always go riding at midnight," Morwinyon replies. "Are you here to tell me we cannot, because you will be spending the night with him?" She is over- harsh and she knows it, but is feeling hurt.  
  
"No. I have just told him, similarly, that I cannot spend the night with him due to previous engagements with my little sister," Celebrían replies. Morwinyon cannot believe it. She drops her embroidery and throws her arms around her sister. "Come on now, get dressed," Celebrían whispers, gently pulling her sister off her.  
  
Morwinyon obeys, stripping out of the clothes she has been in and pulling on leggings and a crimson riding-dress. Over these she dons a cloak, not risking the cold after her earlier experience. As she reflects on this she pauses. Who was it, she wonders, that wrapped her in their cloak to warm her and brought her inside? She goes through the people she knows in her head, then decides. Mother, she thinks, surely it was Mother who found me.  
  
With doubts about this decision Morwinyon laces her boots and follows her sister out to the stables. "I know a trail that is hardly ever taken," Celebrían confides. The two do not saddle the horse they will be riding, a quarterhorse the color of butterscotch, but they do use a bridle. Reminding each other that silence is of the essence, they lead the horse to the trailhead. Once there they mount up, Morwinyon first and Celebrían behind her. Celebrían takes the reins in her hands and nudges the horse slightly.  
  
The horse's hooves land almost silently on the snow. The sisters do not speak. Snow no longer falls. A lone coyote howls, and Morwinyon sings the familiar old ballad, "Have you ever heard a sound like a howl at the moon, it's a coyote singing, trying to carry a tune. . ." Crickets reply, and the sound of raccoons and such scurrying into their homes. A hare scampers across the path, but does not scare the horses. Slowly the trees close in on the girls as they veer from the trail into open wilderness, shutting out the sight of the moon and stars. It is tangibly dark about them.  
  
Morwinyon is usually a bit frightened of the dark, but now she is so relaxed, tuned in to the motion of the horse's muscles, falling slightly as each leg moves forward, that she is not even slightly afraid. Celebrían knows how close they are to coming out of this darkness, but does not say. She wants it to be a special surprise for her sister.  
  
All at once they are out in the open. A lake opens out before them, ringed by trees. The moon seems huge and over-bright with its sudden emergence. The stars shine out from the black velvet of the night sky. The water laps against the shore with a light noise. Save for this it is silent.  
  
Celebrían smiles. Morwinyon's mouth falls open as she gazes around. It is so beautiful, more so than she ever could have imagined. The eerie stillness and silence only serve to add to the enchantment. The cold nips at her, but not harmfully. Nothing can harm her, it seems, here in her sister's arms in this extraordinary place. "Celebrían," Morwinyon whispers, "it's. . .magical."  
  
"Mother does not know of this place," Celebrían whispers back. "It will be ours, only ours. You know I still love you, although I love Elrond. It is a different love. Whenever you doubt that, you can come here and remember." 


	3. Marriage

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
But, as though the events of that night of winter's first snowfall never took place, Celebrían vanishes again from Morwinyon's life. When Morwinyon is there to Celebrían, she is little more than an ornament. "My little sister," Celebrían will call her, and perchance remark upon her looks, but no more do they laugh together and joke. Celebrían still shares a room with Morwinyon, but she is gone every night or goes to bed late. Morwinyon begins to feel as though she has no sister at all.  
  
Morwinyon's hatred of Elrond becomes more and more intense. It is on her mind constantly, just how much she hates him. She hates that he has stolen her sister. She hates that her parents love him so. She hates, perhaps more than anything else, that he makes such a point of being kind to her. This is surely just an act to win over her sister even more.  
  
And, as Celebrían and Elrond's wedding approaches, Morwinyon begins to feel that she does not even exist. There are so many things to prepare for, to get done, that in all the fuss Morwinyon is forgotten. She understands, of course, that this is a very important day for her sister. But could someone at least have noticed when she accidentally smashed her wrist in the door, and the skin all around it turned a deep purple? Morwinyon wants Celebrían to be happy, but she also wants some happiness for herself!  
  
It is the day before the wedding when things become too much, and Morwinyon lashes out. She has been left alone in her and Celebrían's room. Her mother and sister were there, but each were called away momentarily. Celebrían's dress is laid out on her bed, a beautiful white thing. In Morwinyon's opinion, which no one has asked for anyway, the dress is far too elaborate. Give her a simple thing, Morwinyon wants to shout. Celebrían does not need frills to be beautiful!  
  
There are a variety of emotions bubbling inside of Morwinyon, and it is impossible to say which drives her to do what she does next. She takes the pot of ink from beside her bed, where she often leaves it when she is writing letters, and spills the red ink all over the skirts of Celebrían's dress. Her actions are born of emotion and she is not fully of sound mind as she destroys the fancy gown, and her crooked grin is one of insane happiness, not true pleasure.  
  
Suddenly her hand slips, and the heavy glass inkpot hits her sore wrist. The pain jolts Morwinyon back to reality. She sees the spoilt dress and knows that it is her fault, and that she must somehow fix this. Instead she panics. Morwinyon drops the inkpot, which shatters and stains the floor, and runs from the room. She cannot say where she is going, only that she must get away from that terrible red stain, that awful, false dress that is really a disguise. She must get away from any evidence of that horrible half-elf, whom she cannot stand. She just needs to be free.  
  
Celebrían returns to her room with her mother. Both women are chattering gaily about the approaching event. When they see the dress, they know at once what has happened. "Oh, Celebrían," Galadriel says sympathetically, but Celebrían is beyond hearing.  
  
"Morwinyon!" she screams as loudly as she can. She paces angrily back and forth, muttering, "I am going to kill her, I swear to you, Mother, I am going to kill her."  
  
"There is no need for such rashness--" Galadriel attempts to calm her daughter, but in vain.  
  
"She always ruins everything! She's such a spoiled little brat!" Celebrían chances to glance out the window and catch sight of her sister running towards their secret path. Her cheeks grow even redder, if that is possible, and she flees the room, hurrying to catch Morwinyon before she reaches the lake.  
  
Morwinyon is running as fast as she can when she feels a hand on her shoulder, and someone spins her around. "What is your problem?" Celebrían asks angrily. "Can no one else be happy? Do you have to have everything?" Morwinyon's throat contracts and she cannot reply. "I hate you, Morwinyon, and I am glad you are not really my sister!" When Celebrían realizes what she has said, she gasps and claps a hand to her mouth. Morwinyon has already disappeared.  
  
Celebrían returns to her mother, and tells her everything that happened. "I never meant to say so," she swears, "but I was so angry. . ."  
  
"Celebrían, there is little I can tell you that would comfort you now," Galadriel replies honestly. "Yes, you were angry and hurt, but your actions were highly inappropriate. You have lost a dress, and in return taken away Morwinyon's family." The daughter turns away, looking out the window as if for an answer. "Celebrían. The dress can be fixed."  
  
Celebrían knows that this should make her happy, but it does not. Despite her anger, a part of her still cares about Morwinyon. A few months ago, she would have known exactly where Morwinyon was and exactly what to say to her, but now all she knows is that somewhere in Lothlorien, a very young Elfling is probably lost. "What are we going to do about Morwin?"  
  
"What do you think we should do?" Galadriel asks.  
  
Morwinyon has chosen her hiding place well. She is nestled on the ground beneath a weeping willow tree. The branches form a cage around her, keeping other people out. Morwinyon rests her head against the trunk of the tree. "Ndengina amin, almaarea Tulkas," she prays, "have mercy, please." Her voice is quite and broken, and when she stops speaking it is to crumple into a little ball, wrap her arms around herself, and cry quietly.  
  
"Morwinyon?" At the sound of her name she starts, looking around uncertainly. She has nowhere to run to, so she remains where she is and prays that she might disappear. Celeborn, who has found her, parts the branches of the tree to enter the natural dome, and approaches Morwinyon cautiously. He kneels beside her and asks, "Are you all right?"  
  
"What does it matter?" Morwinyon replies, angry and hurt. Celeborn does not know what it was that Celebrían said, and does not understand Morwinyon's anger.  
  
"It matters to me," he tells her.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I am your father."  
  
Morwinyon looks up at him, her eyes dripping with tears. "Celebrían nyar- nin, sina ta u-nin nosse," she says. Celeborn understands now. He sits beside Morwinyon.  
  
"By blood," he says, "it is not." Morwinyon cringes at this and shies away. "But we love you just the same. Even Celebrían does. You know this, in your heart." When Morwinyon finally stops crying, it is dark out. She is lying in the dirt, curled up into a little ball with tracks on her face left from so many tears. "Are you ready to go home now, Morwinyon? I believe we have a wedding to save."  
  
Celebrían has gone from anger to worry for her sister. "Oh, this is all wrong. I cannot be married without my sister here, it is not right and it is my fault. We always planned this together, late at night, we planned every little detail, and we always had each other."  
  
"Did you plan me?" Elrond asks, hoping to distract Celebrían from her reveries.  
  
"We planned our husbands," Celebrían replies with a slight smile. But this reminds her only more of those nights, and she is saddened again. Long after the moon has risen, Celebrían falls asleep in Elrond's arms.  
  
Morwinyon finds no sleep that night. She sits on her bed with her sewing basket beside her, takes a deep breath, and pulls out her scissors. Yards of fabric fall away from Celebrían's dress, floating noiselessly to the floor and staying there. Much of it is stained with red. Morwinyon worries that the red ink may have soaked all the way through, but she is relieved to find that it has not. This will be a night of hard work for her, one she will not soon forget.  
  
*****  
  
The sun rises on the day of Celebrían and Elrond's wedding. The two lovers in question are still lying in each other's arms asleep, but the crow of a rooster wakes them at once. There is still much to do. Celebrían takes her leave and hurries to her room, hoping she might find something to wear. To her surprise, she does.  
  
Morwinyon has fallen asleep, also. Celebrían's wedding gown is still beside her. At the sound of the door opening she awakes, and seeing who it is says, "Because I ruined your last one. . ." and holds up the dress.  
  
Celebrían gasps. It's perfect. The stitches are not Morwinyon's usual crook, clumsy, far-apart stitches that Galadriel always has to fix, but perfect, identical little stitches. Where the extra skirts were attached-- they are still lying on the floor--Morwinyon has sewn a wide ribbon. The neck, which had before climbed up to Celebrían's chin, now sweeps low, allowing room for the bride to breathe. It is a simple dress, but made with such love that, to Celebrían, there will never be anything more perfect.  
  
"I really want you to be happy," Morwinyon says.  
  
"Oh, Mor. . .it--it's perfect! I don't know what to say, I--thank you!" Celebrían gushes, tears coming to her eyes.  
  
"Aw, no need to get emotional," Morwinyon says, putting down the dress as Celebrían hugs her. "Now, come on, quick. I want to see you in the dress before anyone else does."  
  
"All right," Celebrían says. Morwinyon helps her sister into the new beautiful dress. They stand together before the mirror. Celebrían is beautiful, the most beautiful bride (in Morwinyon's opinion) ever to live.  
  
"I may not be your sister by blood," Morwinyon says, "but I still love you."  
  
When Celebrían and Elrond take their vows, Celebrían has a cut on her palm that no one notices. Morwinyon has an identical incision. Now they are sisters by blood, they know this for sure, and nothing can take it away.  
  
*****  
  
Celebrían and Elrond leave that day, journeying to Imladris, where they will live. Morwinyon and her sister embrace warmly. She still hates Elrond, but she is civil and shakes his hand. Elrond wonders if Morwinyon knows that he has seen her at her weakest, and if that is why she hates him. She spits on his boot when he is not looking, in return for that patronizing smile he gave her. Celebrían grins, but gives her sister a reproving look.  
  
When the newlyweds are out of sight, those who came out to say farewell go back inside. One remains until the forest has darkened, the trees are naught but shadows, and the air chills the skin, causing the hairs on her arms to prick up. "Come on, Morwinyon," Galadriel says, helping her daughter to her feet. "Come on inside and go to bed."  
  
She does, but the room is so empty and cold without Celebrían. Morwinyon is afraid of the scarf hanging from the rafters, of the shadow across the floor, and of the cry of a nightbird. Mustering all her courage, she scrambles out of her bed and into Celebrían's. She buries her face in the pillow, hoping that if she cannot see the frightening things they will all go away. "Celebrían," Morwinyon whispers, as tears slide onto the pillow.  
  
*****  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Celebrían nyar-nin, sina ta u-nin nosse = Celebrían told me this is not my family (very, very rough translation)  
  
Ndengina amin, almaarea Tulkas = Kill me, blessed Tulkas 


	4. New Life

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's Note: For the aging of Elves, I'm using a scale of 2.5 mortal years to 1 Elven year.  
  
*****  
  
Five years pass. They are difficult ones for Morwinyon, but a tradition develops between the sisters, and Celebrían always journeys to Lothlorien for the winter. She always makes this journey alone, and she and Morwinyon always share their old room, where Morwinyon still sleeps and which is unchanged since they were young. When the window frosts over the girls still draw pictures with their thimbles. They spend the time catching up on the events of the past year, and always visit their secret lake together at least once. Letters are well and good, but there is no substitute for the voice, smell, and love of a sister.  
  
Morwinyon, with and without her sister, comes to terms with the knowledge that she was fostered. She tries hard to please Galadriel and Celeborn, although they make it very clear that they love her as if she was their own. "I am not, though," Morwinyon points out to Galadriel one evening as the two sit together, talking. Galadriel has assured Morwinyon that she can say anything she wishes without fear of judgment or scorn, as a mother feels not such things towards her daughter and it seems that something weighs heavily on Morwinyon's mind.  
  
Something does. His name is Minnó. Morwinyon has known him for many years; he is a tall, blonde-haired boy with a face that easily turns bright red from exposure to the sun. He is often associated with Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin, the troublesome brothers who, in the opinions of most grown Elves are nothing but hooligans. Morwinyon is not a grown Elf. She admires and wishes the acceptance of the hoodlums, and something she did to win their favor weighs heavily on her conscience.  
  
The four boys and Morwinyon had been by the river late one night, under the full moon. The discussion turned to the beauty of the water, somehow, and how refreshing it would be to take a swim just then. The boys all dared each other to jump on in, but of course none of them did, and none dared Morwinyon, the young tag-along. That young tag-along, however, grew weary of this debate. She stripped off her clothes and dove with perfect form into the water. By the light of the moon Morwinyon felt softer, more feminine, as she came gracefully back to the surface. She tried to hide her shivers as she asked, "Will none of you join me?"  
  
"You crazy twat, get out of there!" cried Haldir, grabbing her clothes and holding them out to her, eyes shut. "You'll get us into trouble for sure!"  
  
"Oh, do relax," Morwinyon said. After a time she adjusted to and enjoyed the temperature of the water. She liked the feel of her wet hair matted to her back, of swimming strongly back and forth. Finally the boys were growing frantic, trying to urge her out. Morwinyon climbed gracefully back onto the bank, not minding that she was standing naked as water dripped from her body. "Towel?" she asked, only joking, then thoroughly soaked her undergarments.  
  
"Are you decent?" asked Rumil, averting his eyes like the other boys.  
  
"Quite," she assured them. As the five tramped back through the forest, Minnó came to walk next to Morwinyon.  
  
"You shouldn't do things like that," he told her. "You could get into a lot of trouble with those stunts, or even get hurt."  
  
"I am sorry I made you uncomfortable," said Morwinyon, sensing it in his voice. She got the strangest feelings around Minnó. If it weren't for him, she would probably have no interest in Haldir and the others. She liked him, she thought, though it was difficult to know, really. It was not until hours later, as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, that Morwinyon realized that she had jumped into the river to impress Minnó.  
  
"With Celebrían gone, you are my only child left," says Galadriel. "You have always been my baby girl, but now you are my only girl." Morwinyon looks up at her in shock. She is touched by the words of the older woman, and for many moments cannot speak. At long last, Morwinyon finds her words.  
  
"Mother," she says, laying her head on Galadriel's knee, "I think I may love someone."  
  
"Oh," replies Galadriel with a knowing air. She does not believe that her daughter is in love. Morwinyon is hardly out of girlhood. She tries to imitate Celebrían sometimes, and this may just be another one of those times. "If you are uncertain, Morwinyon, it is not true love. There is no reason to rush these things, they will happen on their own if you let them."  
  
"I suppose. . ." Morwinyon consents.  
  
Galadriel frowns and would continue, but at that moment Celeborn enters carrying a letter. "Celebrían sends word," he says to the two women. "She cannot come this winter, and apologizes for not sending word sooner."  
  
"No!" exclaims Morwinyon, jumping to her feet. She needs Celebrían. A winter without Celebrían is like a day without air. She just cannot get through another year without a visit from her sister. "Then. . .if she cannot come here. . .I shall go to her!" exclaims Morwinyon.  
  
"If you must," consents Celeborn, "but it is a dangerous journey so late in the year."  
  
"I have to see her," says Morwinyon. Galadriel looks to her husband, and they nod. This is something Morwinyon must do, and thus they shall allow it. Together with her mother, Morwinyon packs her things for the trip.  
  
"Morwin," Galadriel says as the daughter and her parents eat supper together for the last time in what will surely be quite a while. "Do be careful."  
  
"Don't worry, Mother," Morwinyon says, shrugging off her concern. "I'll take care of myself." Galadriel cannot look at her daughter as the feeling of rejection swells in her. She is being shut out, the Lady realizes. Morwinyon sees this, and it nearly breaks her heart to think that she has caused such pain. Before she can think she reaches over silently and caresses her mother's hand, resting their hands together.  
  
Celeborn clears his throat before either woman can begin to cry. "You never did like that Elrond much, did you?" he asks Morwinyon. "I only ask because you must realize that visiting Celebrían in her home means visiting him as well, and a guest should always be polite. No spitting on his boots, Mor, no sabotage--"  
  
"I never!" she exclaims, blushing because she knows full well that she did.  
  
"Should you be tempted, just remember that you represent all of Lothlorien," Celeborn suggests. "Keep your dyes where they belong and your spittle in your mouth, where it belongs." At this last comment Morwinyon cannot help but laugh, amused at the absurdity of it and amused that her father knew for so many years that she spit on Elrond's boots.  
  
Though they think they miss her already, Celeborn and Galadriel have no idea of the emotions that will be stirred in them the next night. They do not know that they will sit alone at the table and try to make conversation, or that they will go through the motions of an average day, trying not to think of their little daughter. They do not know that when night falls, it will be Celeborn who cries in his wife's arms, and Galadriel who keeps her tears within her. They will not know, then, that Morwinyon is not crying, much as she wants to, but trying to pretend it is a game. What they do know is that she grew up all too fast.  
  
*****  
  
Two weeks later, Morwinyon awakes with a cry. It takes a moment for her to realize where she is: on the ground in the wilderness. She has had another one of her dreams, which she is all too used to. The night terrors she had as a child never went away. No one knows but her. Sometimes the things she sees come to pass, and it frightens her more than anything else, especially on nights like tonight.  
  
Tonight, Morwinyon dreamed of Celebrían. In the dream she saw her sister out in the snow with two young boys. The boys were dark-haired and very young, hardly able to stand. Celebrían watched them play, so absorbed in their activity that she does not notice when the snow begins to fall, harder and harder, until she cannot even be seen--  
  
"Cel," Morwinyon whispers, and she gets to her feet. This is it; Morwinyon must reach Imladris before next she rests or it will drive her mad. She gathers her supplies and mounts her horse, nudging him into a full gallop. She has to get there, no matter how far it is, no matter how tired she may get. Celebrían is more important. . .she has to warn her!  
  
Morwinyon is so busy worrying about Celebrían that she does not notice when the snow begins to fall. The chill does not reach her as she hurries on. In fact, she only notices that it is snowing when she cannot see an inch in front of her. "All right," she tells herself, "stay calm. You can do this, just keep going straight ahead. . .just keep going. . ." This mantra she keeps up until she can no longer. The world goes black as Morwinyon slumps forward in her saddle.  
  
*****  
  
"You seem to have quite a knack for getting yourself lost in the snow, Little Light."  
  
Morwinyon turns her face towards the sound of the voice. Her vision is groggy, at first, but as things come into focus she groans. "Vedui, Elrond," she mumbles under her breath.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.  
  
"Cel, where is she?" Morwinyon asks suddenly, sitting bolt upright as the memory of her dream comes back to her. "Where is my sister?" She throws back the covers and steps out of bed, shivering from the cold as her feet hit the floor. Elrond reacts at once, urging her to lie down.  
  
"You were out in the snow unconscious, Morwinyon, even an Elf is not immune to--"  
  
"Where is my sister? Tell me now or I shall find her myself!" Morwinyon demands angrily, shoving Elrond's hand from her shoulder. A worried look comes over his face, as if he is unsure of what to say. Morwinyon is suddenly afraid that she was too late, and is about to cry out when a voice from behind her stops her.  
  
"I am here, Morwinyon."  
  
"Celebrían!" Morwinyon runs to her sister and embraces her. Something in that hug feels odd. . .drawing away, Morwinyon gasps.  
  
"Yes," Celebrían laughs. "You see, this is why I could not come to you!" She rests her hands over her swollen belly. "I am too far, now, for travel. But oh, how perfect, you are here now!"  
  
"I did not want to spend a winter without you," Morwinyon mutters.  
  
"I dreaded it, also," Celebrían replies, "but everything is perfect now-- wait. Mor, Mother and Father know you are here, do they not? You did not run away, Morwinyon, tell me you did not!"  
  
"I did not!" Morwinyon tells her sister. "They know I am here. You were right, Cel. It is perfect."  
  
*****  
  
"Have you a name chosen?" Morwinyon asks as she and Celebrían sit by the hearth, a burning fire providing warmth and light. They are in Morwinyon's room, or the room she will be staying the winter in. Both sisters know the meaning of this question, for they have spoken of little other than the child in Celebrían's belly.  
  
"Elladan, if it is a boy, and if it is a girl Arwen," Celebrían says with a nod and a smile, unable to keep her hand from that swollen spot, the skin tight as a drum. "I cannot wait for him to arrive."  
  
"Arwen. . ." Morwinyon rolls the name on her tongue. "I like it," she says. "It will be a pleasure to meet this Arwen or Elladan."  
  
"Aye, and a pleasure not to be so often kicked!" jokes Celebrían. She leans back in her chair, then says, "I am off to bed, Morwinyon. A pleasant evening to you, and a restful sleep."  
  
"Pleasant dreams," Morwinyon replies as her sister gets up, kisses her forehead, and leaves. Moments later there comes another knock at the door. "Enter," she calls, thinking that it could be no one but Celebrían--perhaps she forgot something earlier. It is Celebrían, however.  
  
"We need to talk," says Elrond as he sits in the chair recently vacated by Celebrían.  
  
"Do we?" she hates him--no point in any more than thinly masking it.  
  
"At least for Celebrían's sake. What is it, Morwinyon? Why do you hate me so much? I never meant to hurt you, Little Light, and I am sorry if I ever did. You told me once that if I ever hurt your sister you would make me suffer, well, I want you to know that I would never hurt her. She is the greatest treasure anyone could ever love--are you listening to me?"  
  
Morwinyon is not. She is thinking instead. That name. . .where has she heard it before? Before she can remember, a shout pierces her thoughts. "Celebrían!" exclaim Morwinyon and Elrond together, jumping to their feet. They rush down the corridor to her aid, only to be ushered out of the room by a midwife.  
  
"She does not need a worried husband, go to!" insists the woman. Morwinyon wanders off at once, knowing that she will not be granted entrance and ought not waste her time. Elrond stays outside of the bedchamber for a time, unsure of what to do. At long last he ambles off.  
  
Elrond seeks solitude and meditation in the gardens. Edelweiss and freak roses grow through the snow. By the rose bush, which sports blood red blossoms, a bent figure sits on a stone bench, resting her head in her hands. Elrond does not shy away, but chooses instead to approach her. He brushes snow from the bench and sits beside his sister in law. "You should be wearing a cloak, you know," he says with a cynical half-laugh.  
  
"Huh," Morwinyon replies, but makes no move to retrieve the aforementioned garment. Elrond sighs, then unclasps his own cloak and drapes it across her shoulders. Finally a response: Morwinyon looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "It was you, wasn't it? That night in the snow, just after I was so mean to you. You brought me back inside."  
  
"Yes," Elrond replies. "You never knew?"  
  
Morwinyon shakes her head. "Not until you called me Little Light just before. I thought it was my mother. I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time before. Looking back, you tried to be a brother to me."  
  
"And I failed there, as I shall fail as a father now," Elrond says, betraying his worries before he can think.  
  
"Oh, Elrond, no! You will be a wonderful father. I know from the way you never gave up on me. Your little Elladan or Arwen is truly blessed."  
  
After a long pause, Elrond works up the courage to say, "Thanks, Morwinyon."  
  
They say no more as a wail splits the air, the cry of a newborn babe. The sound is followed by another, similar call. Elrond looks up, excited. Morwinyon turns her face in the direction of the sound, then looks at Elrond. "Are you ready to go and meet your twin children?" she asks.  
  
An hour later, Elrond holds the tiny creature in his arms. They have named the first boy Elladan, and the second Elrohir. Celebrían is asleep, exhausted. Morwinyon observes the careful father interact with his son, his gleeful sobs having stopped for the moment. He still smiles as he looks down at the boy, Elrohir. Elladan is asleep in his crib.  
  
Carefully she lays a hand on his shoulder. "What do you think now, brother?" she asks in a whisper.  
  
"I think these are two very lucky little boys." 


	5. Bad Decisions

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's Note: This chapter took a long time. . .sorry about that. . .I'll try to have the next up sooner.  
  
"Take me home, country road/To the place where I belong"  
  
-John Denver  
  
*****  
  
Things work out well, for the next three years. Morwinyon visits Imladris every winter, catching up with her sister and brother-in-law, and keeping an eye on her young nephews. Some times Celeborn and Galadriel journey with her, other times she journeys alone, and her parents follow at a later time. She always leaves early in the season, but Elrond sends his scouts out--just in case.  
  
On the fourth year, Morwinyon arrives very early. Celebrían is playing with the twins in the gardens, having quite a time of keeping them away from the roses. Hearing footsteps she turns, smiling in a child's carefree manner, to see Elrond approaching. Morwinyon follows after him, to his left. She seems to be very self-conscious, keeping away from the plants and other Elves. Celebrían knows that something is very wrong with her sister.  
  
The sisters embrace, Morwinyon falling almost desperately into Celebrían's arms. Confused and shocked, Celebrían catches the younger girl before she can hit the ground. "Ammë, Ammë!" chorus the voices of two worried and protective young lads.  
  
"It is all right," she tells the boys. "Ada is going to play with you now, all right?" Luckily the twins are too young to feel rejected, and they totter happily over to Elrond, who accepts his new duty bravely, picking up Elrohir when he falls and distraction his attention before Elrohir decides to cry. Morwinyon watches this little play, and a tear slips down her cheek. Celebrían's intense gaze is locked on her sister. And she knows. She can hardly speak; her voice is an airy whisper. "Morwinyon, no."  
  
Celebrían leads her sister into the house and sits her down. "Who was it? Was it Minnó? It was, wasn't it? Sweet Eru, Mor, I knew you were young but I never thought you would be so stupid! Does mother know?" Morwinyon begins to cry. Celebrían is too angry for sympathy. "Morwinyon, do not do this. You are old enough to be responsible for your own actions."  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" if it is as it sounds, Celebrían is ashamed.  
  
"No, it was not Minnó. He has not ever. . .touched me. Mother thought I needed to get away from him, so she took me with her to Mirkwood forest. . ."  
  
~*~  
  
Morwinyon didn't mind attending feasts. There was eating, talking, sometimes dancing. Being a child she was often ignored, but she enjoyed listening to the witty banter of sophisticated adults, and did not fully mind the pervert humor of drunken Elf-lords; both were present, depending on the amount of alcohol imbibed. On that night, Morwinyon waited until her mother had had a glass of wine, then asked, "Mother? May I have some wine, as well?"  
  
Galadriel was not as drunk as her daughter suspected, nor was she oblivious. She knew well that Morwinyon had sneaked wine before and not enjoyed it. "All right," she said, and poured a very small amount of alcohol into her daughter's glass. When they returned home, Galadriel decided, Morwinyon could drink as much as she liked and learn first-hand about the accompanying headache. This lesson was never necessary with Celebrían, cautious and logical, but despite her sister's influence Morwinyon was headstrong and needed to learn some things for herself.  
  
Surveying the room over the rim of her glass, Morwinyon allowed the tiniest amount of the tart drink to slip between her slightly parted lips. She tried not to shudder as it touched her tastebuds. It was about then that she caught sight of another person, an Elf staring at her with a look she could not identify, a look that made her feel rather uncomfortable. Not knowing what else to do, she looked away, staring at the napkin in her lap.  
  
Later, she asked Galadriel, "Mother, who is he?" The Elf was dancing, no longer looking at Morwinyon, and so she dared to look at him. He was handsome, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, but his face had a look to it that warned Morwinyon: this is no stranger to anger. By the gold circlet he wore, she guessed that he was of high rank and let no one forget it.  
  
"He is King Thranduil, our host. Why do you ask?"  
  
"No reason." Morwinyon could have told her mother then, and things might have been different. But instead she held her tongue, with the pride of youth, and took another sip of wine. After a moment she noticed Thranduil leaving and stood up. Too often that night she had felt his eyes on her, and she aimed to put a stop to it. Faking a stumble, she caught the back of her chair and said, "Perhaps I have had too much wine. I am off to bed, if this pleases you. . .?"  
  
"Aye, go ahead."  
  
Morwinyon doffed her drunken act the moment she reached the hall, although her vision was blurred slightly--perhaps she truly had taken too much. No matter. She followed after Thranduil. He was just entering his bedchamber when she caught up to him. "My lord," said she, "the way you looked at me tonight, with all respect, was completely inappropriate. I am hardly out of childhood, sir, and you a married lord!"  
  
"No. . .no, you are correct. I apologize, it will not happen again."  
  
"See to it that it does not."  
  
~*~  
  
"Is that all? Mor, you know babies don't come of that!" Celebrían laughs.  
  
"No!" Morwinyon shrieks. She has stopped crying now, forcing herself to keep back tears. "He made me do things, Cel. Things I planned not to do until I was married. He--" she lowers her head and drops her voice in shame. "He made me give myself to him."  
  
"And you did not fight back!" a question in appall.  
  
"I couldn't! He made me believe I wanted it, he threatened me and said things. . ."  
  
"There's a word for that, Mor. It is called rape."  
  
A whispered half-sob, "I didn't tell him no."  
  
~*~  
  
Thranduil gave Morwinyon a glass of whiskey, which she fully intended not to drink. But she hated to be treated like a child, and when Thranduil said, "I am sorry, I should have realized you are too young--" and moved to take the glass away, Morwinyon protested, "No, it is fine--" and took a deep drink to prove her maturity. The liquor went straight to her head, making her feel dizzy.  
  
"Morwinyon, let me return you to your mother--" Thranduil said. By now he had her completely wrapped around his finger, knowing exactly what her reaction to his every word would be.  
  
"No, I am fine, I only tripped." She looked around, then, in desperation not to appear young, asked, "May I have another glass of this, what ever it was?"  
  
"Of course," said Thranduil with a secret smile. He poured her another drink, which she swallowed in one gulp. Now she was very much drunk. Thranduil moved in, putting his arm around her neck and kissing her. When he drew away her eyes were wide with wonder. He knew that she was his for the taking.  
  
~*~  
  
"Oh, Morwinyon."  
  
"Wait! No! I--I never meant--I--"  
  
"Why did you not tell Mother?" Celebrían demands.  
  
"I. . .after he had his way with me," Morwinyon says under her breath, "he sent me back to her. 'Go back to your mother, little girl,' he said to me, as I sat, shivering, wrapped in a white sheet. 'But if you tell her of what transpired here, your life will be over. No man will want you. I will deny this, and whose word shall be taken? You are little more than a prostitute.' I was so upset, I didn't know any better. . .Celebrían, it hurt! I was crying and he told me it would ruin my life. . .in a daze I returned to the rooms I was sharing with Mother, but she was not there and I fell asleep on the hearth. After that, I. . .I could hardly think of it, let alone speak. You are the first person I've told." Morwinyon hides within herself. She crosses her ankles, raises her knees and lowers her head, wrapping her arms around herself.  
  
"Come now, Morwinyon," Celebrían says. She is shocked and angered that anyone would violate her sister in such a manner, but her first priority is Morwinyon's well being. Vengeance can wait. "Come with me, let's go and have a cup of tea."  
  
"Oh--all right," Morwinyon says, getting to her feet with shaking knees. Celebrían takes her sister's elbow, leading her gently out of the chamber and to the dining hall.  
  
"Here. Sit down," Celebrían instructs, easing her sister onto one of the wooden benches. Morwinyon obeys, still shaking. With an eye on the younger she-Elf, Celebrían gathers two mugs and tea leaves, and sets a small cauldron filled with water to boil over the hearth fire. She sits across from Morwinyon, but does not know what to say to her. What has happened is too terrible to think of. Instead, Celebrían places her hands over Morwinyon's. "You will make it through this."  
  
"Oh, Cel. . ." she dissolves into tears, trying hard to keep them at bay but in vain.  
  
Hours later, after many mugs of strong tea, Morwinyon has fallen asleep on the wooden bench. Celebrían has not left her side, but sits beside her, stroking her hair. Elrond enters, seeking his wife, and sits across from the two women. "The boys have gone to sleep," he told her. When Celebrían only responded with a small, detached sound, he added, "asking for their Ammë."  
  
"Oh, Elrond, I am sorry," Celebrían says, meaning it, "but Morwinyon. . .were you there when she arrived?"  
  
"Aye," he says.  
  
"What was she like?"  
  
"Death," he replies after short meditation. "Emaciated, somehow, but not physically. She shook and would not let anyone touch her. She would not even let me near her." Elrond's voice shook with slight offense at this, for his relationship with Morwinyon had been very strong, but still a bit uncertain.  
  
Celebrían shakes her head. "I need the Lord and Lady." She has gotten into the habit of referring to her parents in this manner.  
  
"Surely they are coming?"  
  
"I do not know. Mor was--" she stops herself just in time. "Something happened to her. Something our parents need to know about."  
  
Elrond nods grimly. He does not know what it is, but waits patiently, knowing that Celebrían will tell him.  
  
"She thinks she is with child."  
  
"What?" Usually Elrond is master of his emotions, but at this he cannot contain his amazement. "She would never--"  
  
"It is not as it sounds."  
  
Before Elrond can reply--he has a good idea of what is going on--a shout interrupts them. "I'll go--" Elrond says, heading for the door.  
  
"No, I will," Celebrían says. The two realize for the first time how uncomfortable they are, and together they head down the hall to the room their twin sons sharing. Elladan is standing upright, screaming as loudly as he can, while Elrohir sits and watches, his thumb in his mouth. Elrond goes to Elladan, lifting the child into his arms and singing to him softly, as Celebrían comforts Elrohir, taking his thumb from his mouth and smoothing his hair.  
  
It is, not surprisingly, Elrohir, who notices the figure standing in the doorway. She wears a white gown and her hair seems alight about her head. She is pale and unkempt, yet she glows. Something in her silent sorrow glows.  
  
"Ammë!" Elrohir shrieks, and when he has her attention he points one chubby finger at the doorway.  
  
Celebrían turns, but the figure has disappeared. "What is it, Elrohir?" she asks, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Elrohir gasps and buries his head in the pillow, believing that the figure has simply blinked away, instead of taking noiseless steps away when the child's attention was turned away. For many years to follow, Elrohir will be afraid of the figure, the wraith, the spirit, which he believes to be an Imladris haunt.  
  
*****  
  
Concerning Thranduil: I'm sorry, but I have hated him ever since I read The Hobbit. I thought he was racist and very unkind to Dwarves and Hobbits that meant him no harm, and that very much tainted my opinion of him. If you like him, I apologize, but I do not. 


	6. Spring Leaves

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: This gets a bit funny at the end, I know. I'm so sorry, I could not resist.  
  
*****  
  
Three weeks later, Celebrían and Morwinyon go for a walk in the gardens. "It is so different here from Lothlorien," Celebrían says as the stroll alongside a bed of roses. "There was something wild about Lothlorien, unplanned, yet it had not the hustle and bustle of life, of people going about things, that we have here in Imladris. There nature was all around you, while here nature is confined, but so is society. I love the home of my childhood, and that of my adulthood, as well."  
  
"Hm," says Morwinyon, nodding and lifting one eyebrow. She clutches the ends of the sleeves of her black sweater, warmer than is necessary in the early-winter's chill, and follows her sister. A blackbird flies overhead, calling out to them. "I have a letter for you, Celebrían," Morwinyon says. "It is from Mother." She takes this letter from a pocket in the skirts of her dress and passes it to Celebrían, then slips both hands into her pockets. Celebrían reads the letter as the girls walk onwards.  
  
My dear Celebrían,  
  
I have sent word with your sister, and hope you will not be angry for my tardiness in informing you: Celeborn and I will not be visiting Imladris this winter. We cannot leave Lothlorien at this time.  
  
And for a time the letter continued as such, explaining that they hoped it would be acceptable for them to visit in the spring, then changing. After the first few paragraphs, it was a letter from a loving mother to a dear daughter grown to womanhood all too soon for the mother's liking. At last it finished up, saying that Galadriel sent her love and hoped the boys were well, and could not wait to see the whole family again in the springtime, conditions permitting. "You ran away, Morwinyon," Celebrían says once she has finished reading the letter. "You told me you did not!" her voice holds her hurt and betrayal.  
  
"No! Mama knows, I swear it, Celebrían! Think you not that she gave me that letter for you? I did not run!" replies Morwinyon. "Look here--" and, motioning to the letter, she reads, "I trust your sister will suffice this winter, as she carries with her the love we bear for you and yours."  
  
"I am sorry, Morwinyon, you are right; I should not have called your honour into question. Forgive me?"  
  
"Of course." Suddenly Morwinyon gasps. She places a hand on her belly, which is just beginning to swell.  
  
"Morwinyon, what is it?" asks Celebrían, worried, and she holds her sister by the hand.  
  
"I think. . .I feel my child," she says in awe.  
  
"Is it kicking?" asks Celebrían, and Morwinyon nods. Tears spring to the younger girl's eyes, and she collapses onto a nearby bench, hiding her face in her hands. "Oh, Morwinyon," Celebrían says in an understanding tone, rubbing her sister's back. "It will be all right. There is nothing to worry about; if you wish I will foster the little one, it will have a home."  
  
"But I am selfish, Celebrían," replies Morwinyon, "and would raise the child myself. And it is so shameful. . .before, I simply pretended it was not growing within me, but I can no longer deny it. I feel it ever, I am growing also. Now I cannot hide it. A child conceived out of wedlock grows within me. Who can I look in the eyes? Who would claim me as family now?"  
  
Celebrían does not remember when Morwinyon first came to Lothlorien forest. She remembers a time before Morwinyon, but does not remember the actual arrival of the youngster. "I would," she replies fiercely. "You think this changes anything? You are still my sister, and my boys are still your nephews. You think Elrond has stopped referring to you as his own sister?"  
  
"He what?"  
  
"Oh, it has been going on since the twins were born. Honestly, Morwinyon! Yes, what you have done is disgraceful, but you need not worry for it! Those that love you will not abandon you, and in such circumstances you are not in the wrong!" For a long time Celebrían holds her sister, and for as long a time Morwinyon cries.  
  
*****  
  
But not every one is as forgiving as those that love her. The more she shows, the more Morwinyon becomes secure with the child growing within her. She heals with an unnatural resilience from the emotional wounds done to her, soon allowing physical contact with Elrond and the young twins as well as Celebrían. Morwinyon holds her head high as she walks, trying not to feel terrible when mothers turn the heads of their young ones away from her. There are four mothers in Imladris with young children, and three of them scoff and whisper that Celebrían even lets Morwinyon near her little ones!  
  
The snows have fallen when, one night in the library, Morwinyon begins to feel that her annoyance is too much. It was, after all, not her fault. Yes, she had been foolish, but not so much that any blame could fairly be placed upon her head. As she sits by the fire reading, she hears someone enter. Noticing the Elves by the fire, Glorfindel says, "Good evening, Celebrían."  
  
"Good evening, Glorfindel!" calls Celebrían, who sits beside her sister. Morwinyon shudders at the way his eyes slide over her and turn to the shelves, searching for a particular volume. "How do you fare on this day?"  
  
"Well, and you, Celebrían?" he replies without turning to look at them. The women both know he is trying not to look at Morwinyon.  
  
"I fare well." She returns to her earlier task of embroidery, and after a time of silence places her hand over Morwinyon's sympathetically. Morwinyon can feel her temper rising.  
  
"Good evening, Lord Glorfindel," says Morwinyon.  
  
He cannot ignore her now; that would be blatant rudeness, not an under- handed jab. "Good evening," he says, nodding to her without looking at her.  
  
"Why do you not look at me, my lord?" asks Morwinyon. "Surely you know me? I am Lady Celebrían's sister."  
  
"Yes, I--I do know you."  
  
"Then why do you not look at me?"  
  
"Lady, I think you do not need me to answer that. In all respect," Glorfindel says uncomfortably.  
  
Playing the coy, innocent youth, Morwinyon replies, "But I do need you to answer that, Glorfindel. No one seems to see me any more and I worry I have gone all invisible. Can't you see me?"  
  
"If you wish to be seen, perhaps you should not have done a thing so--so-- so wrong!" he erupts, whirling to face her.  
  
"What have I done?"  
  
"You have given yourself to a man out of wedlock and come out of it alone and with his child!"  
  
"But Glorfindel, by ignoring me what do you hope to achieve? I am not going to go away."  
  
"You, child, are a rude, impudent, perverse blemish to our society here, and I sincerely hope that you do go away and leave us our peace!" And with an indignant "hpmh!", Glorfindel turns on his heel and strides from the room.  
  
"Morwinyon." Celebrían begins, but Morwinyon only yawns and shakes her head.  
  
"I think I will retire for the night, Celebrían. Pleasant dreams, sister, and I shall see you on the morrow," says Morwinyon, standing and stretching.  
  
"All right. . .pleasant dreams, sister," Celebrían echoes, and lightly grasps her sister's hand, then their grip slides away from each other.  
  
The next day Glorfindel apologizes, saying that he spoke out of anger and did not mean what he said. Like a lady should, Morwinyon accepts his apology. Her heart does not agree. She knows that what he said in the heat of passion is what he truly meant, and she will not be quick to forget it. So this lord wishes her to leave Imladris. May it be: she will, however, not be complying.  
  
*****  
  
The winter frosts are melting, and Celebrían and Morwinyon walk once more through the gardens, alone with the edelweiss and the red, red roses that grow every winter in Imladris. They do not speak, but walk quietly together, each thinking her own thoughts. Suddenly Morwinyon utters a word of surprise, and then she asks, "Celebrían, what is it like to have a child? How do you. . .how does one know when. . .when it is coming?"  
  
"First your water breaks. It seems as though you have lost control of your bladder, when this happens. . .why are you asking me this?"  
  
"Celebrían, I think we need to go back inside," Morwinyon replies.  
  
Minutes later they are in Morwinyon's bedroom. The young girl is lying on the bed, waiting, worrying. Her sister stands by her side, holding her hand. Her brother kneels beside her, calming her. "Breathe, Morwinyon, you have to breathe," Elrond tells her. "You cannot hyperventilate, not now." Addressing his wife, he asks, "Where is the midwife?"  
  
"How can I say? Encirith went for her near fifteen minutes past," Celebrían replies. Encirith had been the first person Celebrían saw, and she had asked him to run for the midwife. He has gone, and has yet to return.  
  
"He had better hurry back; this child is eager to enter the world!" Morwinyon exclaims, gasping for air. "I cannot simply wait!"  
  
Celebrían looks to Elrond and raises an eyebrow. "You do it," she tells him.  
  
"What?" asks Elrond, looking away from Morwinyon and to Celebrían. "I am a healer, not a midwife!"  
  
"Well you are the closest thing to a midwife we have at hand right now!" Celebrían replies in a snippy tone.  
  
"I am not sure Morwinyon would be comfortable with me--"  
  
"I care not, but some body deliver this child!" Morwinyon interrupts. Celebrían silently urges her husband to do so, and with a choked sigh Elrond moves to the end of the bed, saying, "Celebrían, you had better go and get some clean blankets or some such thing. But hurry; I will need you here. Morwinyon, just. . .wait a minute." Celebrían nods and hurries out of the room.  
  
"I can't wait a minute! This child is coming now!" she shouts.  
  
"Then push!" Elrond shouts back. To his surprise Morwinyon complies at once. "Oh, no. . .Celebrían!" Elrond calls. "This is happening quicker than I would like!" Moments later she rushes into the room with an armload of blankets. With a look and a swear, she pulls one from the pile and readies it. Morwinyon can feel her muscles straining as she pushes for all she is worth, and then, all at once, she feels the pressure relieved. A baby's cry splits the air. Morwinyon falls back onto the pillows, exhausted. Celebrían wraps the little child in a blanket and shushes him, cooing gently. As her head lolls to one side, Morwinyon watches the first leaf of new spring cling to an otherwise naked tree, a vibrant green, promising eternal renewal. . .  
  
"Morwinyon," says Celebrían. The girl is brought back to reality. Elrond is cleaning up, leaving the two women as much privacy as possible. The elder sister sits beside the younger on the bed and switches the baby to one arm, brushing strands of sweat-soaked hair away from her cherry-red face. In a gentle tone she asks, "Will you hold your little one, or shall I put him to bed?"  
  
"Let me hold him," Morwinyon replies, easing herself into a sitting position. She takes the little bundle from Celebrían, and cannot help but smile at him. Though covered mostly by the fuzzy blue blanket, his pudgy fists and face are visible. His skin is red from the womb. Morwinyon cannot help but think that he is perfect, button-nosed and satin-lipped with clear blue eyes and a tuft of blonde hair already apparent on his head. He takes after his mother; it is as clear as day, although his hair is a shade lighter. His fists flail around aimlessly as he gurgles, unable to speak. "My little one," she whispers, running a finger along his cheek. He begins to whimper, and Morwinyon hushes him. His fists find her, and he wraps his hands around her finger.  
  
"Has he a name?" asks Celebrían.  
  
Morwinyon's eyes stray away, out the window to the nearly-naked tree, shivering in the wind. "Legolas," she replies. "My little Green Leaf."  
  
Just then the peace that has settled over the room ends abruptly as Encirith returns, skidding to a halt. "I bid the midwife come as soon as she could," he says. "She is not well, and asks that you go to her."  
  
"Thank you, Encirith, the job is done. Would it be awful to ask you to carry this message to her?" Celebrían asks.  
  
"No, Lady," says Encirith, and is gone again at once. Then a high shouting comes into the room, as Elladan and Elrohir hurry in, chasing one another. "Ammë!" they cry, rushing over to her. " Ammë, me an' Elladan were--"  
  
"You should not be here!" Elrond exclaims, turning to gather up the twins and take them out of the room. Unfortunately, they manage to evade his grasp, shrieking as he stumbles to catch them. Celebrían and Morwinyon laugh, and little Legolas shrieks. Morwinyon calms him, laughing.  
  
"Lady Celebrían--" she looks up to see Glorfindel standing in the door way. "Perhaps this is not the best time to tell you, Lady, but your parents are riding into Imladris as we speak. I thought you should know."  
  
*****  
  
TBC 


End file.
